Cold
by Kira8428
Summary: In the cold of winter within the unknown, Wirt finds himself alone with his thoughts and the things that whisper along the wind. And from these thoughts the cycle begins again. [Kind-Of Sequel to Fruit of an Edelwood]


Winter in the Unknown was strange. Living creatures were never really around, and the ones that were had either scurried into holes or were lying still in the snow. But nothing was ever _dead_. Nothing necessarily died here, and such a thing continued to fascinate those who cared to notice, but there was also something unsettling about it.

One day you would see autumn leaves falling to the ground, before spurring up and away along the wind with the birds. The next day snow would lie on the ground, with clouds hanging overhead and pushing the light away while those very birds don't even fly some place warmer-not that there really were any places as such.

They just disappeared, and the only things that had yet to do the same were the people. And my, were they a sight to behold-as most of them spent time in their homes or in taverns-leaving only to find new shelter or gather wood for their fires. And that seemed to be the one constant of all humans in the Unknown... They were kept alive by a fire.

Be it the roaring fire of a tavern fireplace, or the burning fire that lied in the hearts of all of these people... It kept them alive. Which is why Wirt found himself so very inhuman.

With dark antlers pushing through his hair, leaves and vines tangling through them as though there were a tree atop his head, and the feeling of oil running beneath his skin-one would think such a thing was quite obvious, but one could be an animal and still have a certain humanity to them-a certain fire to them.

But Wirt wasn't like that, at least not anymore.

Oh he still had his passions. He'd been working on his poetry for a long time, and had quite the tenor voice to him now that he'd sat down to practice, but those things did not equate a fire anymore. They were too easy to be a source of flame now, acting as nothing but sparks on wood that was far too dense to burn.

Truth be told however, it wasn't the worst feeling. No... He felt like the worst feeling had passed, whatever it might have been, but it still had him somewhat down. The cold and quiet of the forest didn't help either, as he trudged through the thick snow with less than grace. It left him alone with his thoughts, something he didn't remember ever being too fond of.

Spotting a tree in the distance, Wirt made his way towards it numbly-pulling an axe out from beneath the dark cloak that cast a shadow on the entirety of his lower body. His thoughts were often distant during the winter or in times of quiet, more than likely running with questions about just why people couldn't get lost more easily, or what it was about others that influenced people so strongly. It was all strange at first, and previously frightening, but now they were nothing but saddening, as they acted as a grim reminder of just what spurred these thoughts on... Loneliness.

It was lonely nowadays, with faint whispers from the Edelwood trees and the darkness of the shadows being his only company now. On occasion he'd hear a voice echo from the back of his mind-one he was familiar with and longed for somewhere in his black heart-but he found himself brushing it off more and more with the passing days. It hurt too much to think about right now.

It also reminded the young elder that his life was finite. No matter how many of these trees he cut down, eventually he'd have to go as they did. There was a cycle to these kinds of things, and for it to keep spinning things had to end and meet up again.

The axe dug into the wood, with screaming sounding from somewhere in the back of Wirt's mind as the soul shrieked. Such a thing was becoming more and more of a nuisance lately, and he wasn't sure why. Truthfully he was considering getting someone else to do this for him...

He shook his head, continuing his task while his mind wandered back to his eventual end. It both was and wasn't something he was looking forward to. "Wasn't" in the sense that his self-preservation was quite overbearing even in this state of loneliness, and "was" in the sense that he was tired, and missed the one he loved so very much.

He knew where his lover was-beyond this state of dreariness and eternal stillness, and waiting for him. Wirt could almost feel his impatience from here, but that could have just as easily been his own as he waited for the tree to cease its excruciating cries of terror.

But Wirt knew he could wait a bit longer-both of them. They had a natural affinity for tolerance-which Wirt assumed came with age. He supposed that, while the body may cease, the mind would continue to grow and change. It was poetic, something he would have smiled at if he remembered how.

With one last chop, the tree fell to the forest floor-its sounds muffled by the snow. He lifted it onto his shoulders, and made his way through the woods while watching as snow silently started to drift to the ground once again.

It had been so long since Wirt had last gazed upon the face of the one he'd sacrificed so much for. Such a thought left an ache in his un-beating heart as the snow started to build on the log. It ached much like the loneliness did, only more consistently and less often. And though he longed for its end, something told him he couldn't quite do that yet...

Among the thicker trees of the forest, Wirt found himself exhaling through his nose-a habit he never understood-as he certainly didn't need to breathe-and having to turn the log so it lied in his arms and allowed him to move more easily through the winding trees.

He never knew the woods as well as he should, and while he could located anything he was asked, getting to it was another story. More often than not he got vaguely lost-aware of his needed direction but still uncertain as to where to go-another habit he didn't know the origin of... Much like his own.

So long had passed now, his mind had forgotten a lot of what he was. All he knew was that, at one time, he was human. At one time his heart beat. At one time his oil was blood. At one time his eyes were brown. At one time... He had a fire.

He remembered being protective over some things, embarrassed about others, but he was never quite certain as to what those things were anymore outside of poetry and clarinet. It almost felt like another life entirely, as though it weren't even his anymore... And maybe it wasn't.

Pulling back one of the shrubs, Wirt finally found himself in a clearing-the trees seeming to have guided him the right way today-while an old mill sat in near distance, snow having built up on the rickety roof and in the frozen water wheel. Some of it also danced its way into the hole in the roof, something he really should fix but was never quite up to.

But something strange was in the mill. Shadows, irregular ones, danced in the pale blue light of what he knew to be his lantern. Singing was heard along the wind as well, breaking the silence and filling it with what could only be described as joy.

In that other life, Wirt would have smiled at this sight. People were in the mill, two or maybe three of them, smiling and dancing in the light of his lantern. In this life however, a cold emptiness spread through his chest as he slowed his walk and glided through the thinning snow silently.

Such wanderers were not found this far into the forest, something Wirt made certain of quite a few times as well, but here were three, their voices now clearly singing nursery rhymes as they held hands and danced in a circle, all of them clearly young. He was almost certain their recklessness would break something.

Footfalls falling silently onto the porch, Wirt pushed open the oiled door while supporting the log under one arm beneath his cloak. And what he saw was these children, their faces so unclear despite his brilliant eyes, who stopped their dance to gaze up at him-fear clenching in each of their hearts.

And yet, despite the skew of their faces, one piqued his interest-the eldest of the three it would seem, who was pushing the others behind him while worry and fear and panic littered his body posture. Wirt could only tilt his head, before a tone that chilled the room echoed along the walls.

"Young wayward souls... Are you lost?"

And thus the cycle began again, as winter gripped the outside and the room's shadows were cast by the blue lantern's light and dull fire-these flames just as cold as the snow.

* * *

 **AN: Because so many people enjoyed (And continue to randomly favorite) "Fruit of an Edelwood" so much, I had to continue it _somehow_. Unfortunately I was never able to come up with anything that I thought would be even halfway decent until recently. I literally just thought to myself "Winter in the unknown is strange..." and went from there. That eventually rolled into a story I wrote and finished in one sitting. (Now if only that would happen more often... Although, now that I think about it this may not be all that great... Well, too late now) In any case, I hope you enjoyed this at least a little bit and I wanted to thank all of you again for the favorites I continue to get on a story that-truth be told-I find kinda... Okay. You guys are awesome, and I hope you enjoy anything else I decide to write. **


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